“She didn’t want to talk to us.”
“My Amanda.” Long sigh. “She’s over-the-top smart, always was. I suppose with that comes…some quirks. She marches to her own drummer and sometimes I’m not sure what the beat is. Garrett and Marilee are more conventional, the two of them were always close. Amanda’s considerably younger. They were always nice to her but I think she felt like an outsider.” A beat. “Amanda’s always been a bit of a nonconformist but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I said, “A real individual.”
“As real as it gets.”
As she’d talked, I’d studied the family photos. Not close enough to see details but a pattern: Amanda standing a foot or so apart.
Sandra Burdette said, “Anyway, that poor girl. I don’t know her from Adam.”
“Her name’s Suzanne DaCosta.”
Head shake.
Milo got up and handed her the picture.
She winced. “She is—was—a pretty thing. You’re sure she’s not one of Brears’s friends?”
Milo took the snap and sat back down. “Doesn’t seem to be.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you. And in answer to your question, yes, I was surprised when Garrett chose Brearely. But she’s been good for Garrett. Brought him out.”
I said, “He’s shy?”
“He was super shy as a kid, then he got more social, had friends. He’s never going to be a party type. He’s studious, earnest. Finds satisfaction in doing things well and that requires time and hard work. Now that he’s settled in a fantastic career, it won’t hurt him to be with a girl like Brearely.”
Trying to sound convinced.
I said, “Getting him out in the world, like the trip to Rome.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Is this Garrett’s first time abroad?”
Milo shot me a sidelong smile. Smooooth.
Sandy Burdette said, “If you don’t count Canada or Mexico. Back when we took family vacations, we went to Lake Louise once and Puerto Vallarta once. Then everyone got serious about school and work and we just stayed here and had barbecues.”
“No European trips for you and Dr. Burdette?”
“Not our thing, that probably makes me sound like a hick. I know it’s beautiful over there, the history, the culture. I’m looking forward to seeing the kids’ pictures when they get back. But with Will’s schedule and, besides, there’s so much of America to see…”
I said, “When we spoke to Garrett and Brearely they talked about an island honeymoon in a few months.”
“They surprised us, too. All of a sudden we get a text from the airport from Brearely—I’m sure the whole thing was her idea, Garrett’s not one for impulsiveness. But like I said, that’s not bad, right?”
Milo said, “Right.” Time for his mug to lower. “Mrs. Burdette, this may sound strange but do you know anyone who’s been to Poland?”
“Poland? Why in the world?”
Trying to sound surprised but not quite getting there. Her eyes slid to the left. Locked. Two brief inhalations, then a return trip. Avoiding looking at us. The knuckles around her mug handle were smooth and pale.
Milo said, “Our job, we have to ask all kinds of questions.” Including one you’ve just answered.
“Poland?” said Sandra Burdette. “The girl was Polish? What was her name—DaCosta? That doesn’t sound Polish.”
“I wish I could say more, ma’am.”
“None of us have ever been to Poland, Lieutenant. The only ones who’ve been to Europe, period, are Marilee and Stu. They went to Portugal on their honeymoon but only because they could combine it with a summer fellowship at the Lisbon school of medicine. But Poland? Never.”
Too long an oration. Her face had flushed.
“Okay, thanks, ma’am.”
Sandra stood. “Is there anything else? I do have some chores.”
“Love to look at that tortoise, you don’t see those too often.”
She frowned. “Sorry, no-can-do. Glenn’s endangered and just getting over a virus. The state brought him to Will for treatment and when Will got him better, they gave us a special permit to keep him. We don’t let people get close to him.”
“Aha. Well, good for you.”
Automotive rumbling followed by the thump of a vehicle door shutting drew everyone’s attention to the front door. Moments later, Will Burdette, clad in a western shirt that matched his wife’s, khaki cargo pants, and dusty cowboy boots, stepped in and set down a hard case with a Red Cross sticker on the side while looking at us quizzically.
Pushing white hair off his forehead, he pulled out a Wash’n Dri, wiped his hands, rolled up the wipe, pocketed it. “I figured that Chevy for a cop car. What’s up, guys?”
Before we could answer, a loud drum paradiddle rocked the floor and the dog horde thundered in, swamping him. His grin was instantaneous and broad as he patted and mussed fur, rubbed behind ears, allowed himself to be licked. “They okay for T-R-E-A-T-S, sweetheart?”
Sandra said, “Already gave them Greenies.”
“Well,” said Will, “a few of the organic jerkies shouldn’t hurt.”
“You’re spoiling them, honey.”
“Someone has to.” Out of a pocket came a plastic bag stocked with small brown strips. Just as his wife had, Will Burdette gave the sit command before administering canapés to each animal.
“Be off and enjoy, my friends.” A hand waved and the celebrants raced away.
Milo and I had gotten up to shake Will Burdette’s hand. Huge mitts with the texture of seasoned hardwood.
I said, “Impressive training.”
Will Burdette said, “Sandy’s got the knack. So, what’s the story?”
Sandra said, “They’re following up. About Poland, of all things.”
“Poland?” Eye-tennis between the two of them.
Will squinted. “That’s kind of out of the blue. What’s the relevance?”
“Can’t get into it right now, Doctor. It’s just something we’re asking everyone.”
“Okay. Well, my answer is, it’s a country in East Europe, used to be communist.”
Another grin but none of the warmth he’d shown the dogs.
Sandra said, “They wanted to know if we’ve ever been there.”
Will laughed. “Our descent’s English and Scots-Irish, if I’d go anywhere it’d be the UK. Poland? Heh. That’s a little eastern for our taste. Although I have taken care of Malopolskis. That’s a horse with Polish and Arabian mixed lineage, gorgeous things. Had a client in Camarillo years ago, she kept a couple. Great temperament, really sweet eyes. But that’s about it Polish-wise.”
Another protracted speech.
Sandra said, “There’s some coffee left, hon.”
Will said, “Sure,” and took a couple of steps forward. Rolling gait worthy of a cinema cowboy.
As his wife headed for the kitchen, she said, “How’re the donkeys, Will?”
“For the most part thriving, one’s a little smaller than I’d like but supplements should help.”
“They come from Italy, caught colds on the trip over. Will got them better.”
He said, “They got themselves better, I just guided the process. Tough little buggers.”
Milo and I sat back down. Will Burdette cocked a shaggy eyebrow and remained on his feet. Finally, he placed himself on an absurdly small rococo chair, fingered a pearl snap on his shirt, and man-spread.
Milo said, “As I told Mrs. Burdette, we have identified the victim. Suzanne DaCosta.”
Will shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Did you ask the other side?”
“We’re asking everyone.”
“What’s it been, week and a half? Took a while.”
“That’s the way it sometimes goes, Doctor. In addition to updating you, we came here to see if either of you knew her.”
“Then I guess you came for nothing. Sorry, guys.”
Sandra returned with a significantly larger mug—beer-stein-plus—and handed it to her husband. Shifting behind him, the way she’d done with the dogs, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Three cubes, hon. These guys take it black.”
“Do they? Tougher than me.” Will smiled, sipped. “Delish, sweetheart. So, is there anything else?”